Shades Of Phoebe 2: Recovery
by taigasanchez
Summary: Continuing a while after Fifty Shades of Phoebe left off...Phoebe faces her demons, and works to heal them, but that wont stop them from getting the best of her. Will Blaise and Phoebe ever find happiness together? Who knows?
1. Recovery

**You would do well to read the beginning of this story-Fifty Shades of Phoebe, which can be found on my page. (: **

**Sorry for the wait guys...Enjoy:)**

Fifty Shades of Phoebe 2: Recovery

"I don't want to be here." I mumble dryly, a very rude declaration indeed, but I couldn't care less.

Dr. Flynn pushed his chunky glasses father up the bridge of his thin shaped nose and blinked. "Understandable." He replied without looking me in the eyes, seeming purely unaffected by my benevolence but then again—he has to deal with my father every other week.

Adjusting the small aluminum pen in his big hand, he scribbles a quick note on his black leather pad. He then lifts it off of his knee and turns it face down.

_What could he have possibly written? I haven't spoken two sentences yet. _

"Why don't you explain to me—why exactly has your father requested you be here today, Miss Grey?"

My brows furrow at the use of my last name. Everyone refers to me as Miss Grey at work out of respect and authority, but from him it just sounds…wrong.

I shift uncomfortably on the soft white chaise directly in front of him and barely managed to utter out, "Phoebe."

Obviously taken aback by my choice of words, Flynn's calm, brown eyes widen a fraction. "Beg your pardon?" He asks politely.

"Call me Phoebe." I insist softly.

He raised a questioning brow as those eyes gave me a pointed stare, trying to analyze me from the outside in. "So be it." He says simply.

"Why are you here today, Phoebe?"

There's a certain relaxation in his smooth English tone that gives me the strangest sense of docility, but relaxing or not I have no intention of speaking to him about anything. He's just going to relay every detail of the conversation to my over bearing Father.

I shake my head once and awkwardly recross my legs.

The doubt in my eyes is ridiculously obvious as he reads it quickly, removing his glasses and locking my gaze sternly.

"I can assure you that any and every detail that we discuss will be held confidential within these walls. Legally, I can not divulge your personal information to anyone."

_That so?_

I stare at him with an unknowing preface. He's being honest—clearly, but I can't speak, or rather—what the hell do I say? What _am_ I here? What _is_ wrong with me?

I have to tear myself away from his steady expression and my eyes set on a quaint picture mounted on his green paneled wall. It's somewhat—two puzzle pieces mended into each other within a brown frame. One piece is black and the other is white, and both have small dots inside the other on each other side, the color mimicking its opposite.

_Ah—Yin and Yang._

Of course—two halves of the same whole. So different—so similar.

"Have you ever felt—incomplete?" I murmur almost inaudibly, my eyes never leaving the photo. Who was that question really directed towards? "Empty?"

When I finally glance over to Flynn, he's watching me intently, urging me to continue.

Clearing my throat, I attempt to tackle my point from a perspective of the adjacent, or give a less melodramatic approach.

_Deep breath, Phoebe."_

My voice cracks when I speak. "I'm—so—tired." I release every pint of oxygen from my lungs with the statement.

"He shrugs slightly, stretching one pen-dominated hand open for emphasis. "Elaborate."

I can't hide my humorless grin. "There's nothing _to_ elaborate."

"Have you not been getting enough sleep at night?"

I shake my head. "No."

"Is that it?" He pushes.

Absolutely not. "No, no, no! Don't you get it? My exhaustion isn't among the stereotypical criteria that meets sleep deprivation." I grumble disgustingly.

_Then why are you tired, Phoebe?_

My mind. "Mentally—" I tap my head while I continue, not knowing where exactly this is going. "I've been lacking the motivational sustainability to carry out my usual daily functions. It's not sleep." I shake my head fiercely. I sleep more than usual—all that I do lately is crawl into bed the minute I get home and wipeout until the next day. "I've had trouble eating—which I havesomething that I've _never_ had a problem with."

"And what in your life has caused you to feel this way?" He chimes in.

"I don't know."

He exhaled deeply. "Have you experienced any changes at work? Went through a death of the family? Personal loss?"

Yes, yes, and yes. "No." I lie.

He has nowhere to go—I'm giving him nothing to run on. I have no way of saying what I feel, never have—never will. The silence fills the spaces inbetween, and I avert my attention to the French window beside me, staring off into the empty sky. "I have knowledge that when you were 16 years old, you ran away from home, would you say that—"

"Passion is a cruel thing." I whisper. "It takes you, it makes you feel, it gives you hope—something to strive for, and then it rips away like a bandage. You never see it coming—one day you think you know everything, and the next you question your existence as a whole." A small smile creeps across my face. "What the hell have I been doing with my life? I'm 24 years old—I should be getting drunk and streaking down streets and having water balloon fights. I see mounds of paperwork every single day, and I'm working like the mortgage is due every night."

I look to Flynn who's watching me dumbfounded. "I found _passion_ in my work, but in that search, I also found depravity." My bottom lip quivers as I search my own mind for answers. "I'm much too young to feel this old."

He snorts vaguely. "Your impression of youth is a bit unorthodox to say the least, Phoebe. Do you think that the discontinuation of your working will stop these—" He gestures his hand in the air. "Haphazard tendencies?"  
"No." I say simply. "I hurt a lot of people with my cynicism—one in particular, and it can't be reserved to a specific cause." I'm so fucked up, and I don't even know why.

"That's what forgiveness is for."

"You can only say sorry so many times before it becomes just another word with no real meaning behind it."

His eyes glazes over to the ceiling in a 'good point' gesture. "Then don't say 'sorry'. Say, 'will you forgive me?'"

That's just a roundabout way of saying 'I'm sorry.'"

"Saying I'm sorry is easy. See, when you say 'I'm sorry', you are iterating _your _personal forgiveness, not necessarily asking for theirs, but with 'will you forgive me?' you must receive _their_ forgiveness, and with that you're promising not to make the mistake again. It's much more solid."

"What if they so no?"

"Then they say no."

I don't think that I could live with myself if I couldn't be forgiven, not that I deserve to be that is, but to forgive to forget, and that things that I've done to him—to everyone—they can't be forgotten.

"Who is that one?" Flynn breaks me from my thoughts.

My brows thread together. "You said that you have hurt a lot of people in your pursuit of cynicism…one in particular is what you said. Who is that one?"

I dare not personify the forbidden word that has been aptly haunting me these past 4 months. It hurts me to speak of him, like physically _hurts_ me. He was everything, and I fucked him over with just my _words—_I'm so disgusting. Just the thought of his face brings a cascade of tears to my eyes.

Flynn picks up a tissue box and hands it to me. I ignore his gesture and stare at my twiddling fingers as black mascara smothered tears worry the skin on the back of my hand. The steady quivering of my shoulders tell me that I should be sobbing, but I hear no sound except for the honking of passing cars down below. My teeth are now grinding against my lip, and I can barely feel the sting due to the numbness which has me now wondering how I've made it this long without crying once.

He sets the tissue box beside me and settles back in his chair, leaning forward. "Does he have a name?"

I manage to sniff out an amusing snort. "Is it that obvious?"

"Deathly." He says without a trace of humor in his voice.

"He hates me, and he hates me because he knows _every_ inch of me. He understands me better than I understand myself, and he despises me because he knows that I despise _myself._" I wipe the tears away with the back of my hand, feeling my throat closing up as I remember every single detail, every word, every touch. "I barely knew him for 2 months, and I _swear_—I'm the same since I met him. I'm different, but it the best possible way I just—"

"But he's so complicated. He's like the moon—part of him is always…hidden. He's an enigma, and he figured me out _so_ easily."

"Maybe he's not as complicated as you made him out to be. Perhaps, he was actually quite simple—so simply actually, that it was impossible to believe."

No. "No." I say sternly. "He was difficult, just like my being is."

"That so?" He asks smugly.

"The key to my sanity is pure rocket science."

He twisted his face in defense. "Rocket science is easy."

I shook my head and stared at him incredulously. "Yeah, if you're a _rocket scientist_."

He sat on the edge of his seat and pinned me down with his eyes. "So why not become a rocket scientist?"

I slump back against the chaise and blink widely. No wonder my father pays thousands of dollars per session for this old man.

_You clever son of a bitch._

* * *

As I'm opening to my car door my phone chirps in my khaki shorts pocket, pulling it out I check the number first and roll my eyes. "Yes Theodore?" I answer sullenly.

"How'd the first session go."

I exhale deeply. "It went." Is all I offer him.

He doesn't push the issue and quickly changes the subject. "Remember when we were in highschool and you promised that if I ever got serious about any girl you would slap me in the face?" Whoa—random.

"Teddy, what the hell?"

"I don't know, Phoebs, I don't feel like myself right now." He says rather uncomfortably.

"I was joking when I made that promise Teddy, mostly because I knew that you were never going to get serious about any girl ever." I roll my eyes, pressing the engine button and rolling down the windows so that the crisp, warm Seattle wind can grace me with its presence.

"Right, right." He says, mostly to himself.

"Teddy…are you okay?"

I can practically feel him shaking the sense back into his head. "No, no—I'm fine. I was just, uh…I wanted to see how your session went is all. I'm sorry to have bothered you with my stupidity."

"Wait—Ted." I stop him before he has the chance to hang up and bang his head against a brick wall over something unreasonable. I'm not a love guru, I don't even understand love myself—I thought I did, but lately I've been questioning everything.

Deep breath Phoebe, stepping into the danger zone here. "What's her name?"

There's a long pause at the other end of the line. "We went out to a nightclub a few months ago, you, me, Ava, and Benny—right before your business trip to LA. I excused myself for a while to get a drink—"

"That blonde chick from the bar!" All of the lines are suddenly straight and clear. I cover my mouth with my hand, the other clutching my phone eagerly.

I shake my head once in disbelief. "I don't believe it, you're losing your mind over some girl you met in less than a night?"

"SHE'S NOT JUST SOME GIRL!" Teddy's sudden outburst made my heart sink into my stomach—he _never _yells at me.

My mouth is dry when I speak again. "I'm sorry." I whisper contritely.

"Phoebe I—I don't know what to do—I'm losing my mind. She's so fucking difficult, it's driving me insane. I've never had this problem with women before." He sounds so lost, so desperate.

"Teddy breathe, I promise you that everything you're feeling is perfectly normal. You just have to—"

"I'll call you back."

_Click_

Okay? That was odd.

"Well goodbye to you too." I mumble and then throw my phone on the passenger seat. I start the car and pull away from the curb, knowing full well that I'll be here again next week for another session.

When I get back to the lobby of my condo there's a strange looking character sitting in one of this black chairs near the reception area. He has caramel colored skin and jet black hair, his eyes are hooded with thick black aviators and he's glancing expectantly around the area. When his head points towards my direction, it does a double take, snapping back to me. He then stands and coolly makes his way over to me, his hands stuffed into his ragged jean pockets.

I panic—big time. When one sees a creepy man walking towards them one tends to freak out. Stumbling over my own two feet, I begin to walk-run to the elevator. I pull my cell phone out of my pocket and dial Dutch's number who is—at the moment—parking my car for me.

_Damnit! Why am I so damn stupid?!_

"Dutch, hurry up!" I squeal horrified as I hold the phone horizontal in front of my mouth.

I scurry into the golden-walled elevator and violently smash my index finger against the close door button. I feel the air slowly creep back into my shriveled lungs when the doors push closed and the metal box begins to lift.

I punch my floor code into the elevator pad and lean against the railing.

"I just can't get a break can I?" I breathe, almost laughing at my horrible, horrible luck.

* * *

A yawn escapes from my mouth and I figure it's time to call it a night. Just before I can finish stretching myself tiredly across the couch, I scream at the top of my lungs as Dutch, Taylor, Sawyer, and have mercy—my father come bursting into my living room. I'd just changed into my pajamas and finished reading one of my favorite books, Gone Girl.

"Dad? What the hell?!" I yell, throwing the book on the couch and standing up.

"Dutch told me that you were being harassed by some creep in the lobby." He hisses, looking around my apartment as if he could actually be here. I can't help the fact that the palm of my hand finds my forehead.

"DAD!" I halfway yell, my fist balled so tightly at my fists I'm sure that my knuckles are white. "It's almost _midnight_—this couldn't have waited until tomorrow?!"

"No." He says in a clipped tone, almost irritated. "For the love of pete, Phoebe, you're being stalked—that's absolutely unacceptable." I release a breath from my lungs and walk over to him, snaking my arms around his waist and pulling him into a comforting hug.

"Dad—I'm sure it's nothing…" I assure him. "Please don't worry."

He hugs me tightly, gently caressing my hair. "If it's nothing then I'm sure you won't mind having 24-hour security from here on."

I quickly pull away from him and snap a disgusting glare. "You can _not _be serious…" I say through clenched teeth. I haven't had 24-hour security since I arrived home from running away 6 years ago.

"It's not up for discussion." He says sternly.

"Absolutely not!" I squeak, with a literal—putting my foot down.

Dad rolls his eyes—ironic—if I was to ever do that I would have been staring at a corner for an hour. "Sawyer, you're staying with Phoebe, Dutch is a no-brainer. I'll call in a few more to set up a perimeter around the building." He looks over to Taylor and supposedly transmits his words to him telepathically because Taylor nods and then stalks out of the room towards the elevators.

My father looks over to me and places his hands on my shoulders. "Get some sleep Princess." He soothes.

I pull away from him and bite my lip to stifle the irritating growl that's begging to escape my lips. Storming to my bedroom I slam the door behind me and—with my arms crossed—sit stubbornly at the foot of my bed. "Got damn you, Dad." I mumble to myself.

I lay back against my soft cotton blankets and stare out the window that's reflecting the beautiful starry night sky and only one image crosses my mind in that very moment. I cringe at the thought of those eyes that have caused me some of the sweetest nightmares—the eyes that have had the capability to leave me so high and dry. What do they see now? Does I cross their peripheral—if only now and then? Do those hollow eyes still hold any remorse for my depravity?

Before I can even think, the unexpected crosses me. Off my tongue rolls the forbidden word, now becoming the only comfort I can possibly find.

"Blaise…"

_I'm so sorry._

Clutching my pillow tightly, I begin to nod off into the abyss of my clustered mind, halfway hoping that I don't have to get out of bed ever again.


	2. Day 0

**To those of you who are wondering and are confused as to why i started a whole new FF for FSOP, it's simple-the first FF was done. This is a completely different story imo, this is Phoebe, and her attempt at becoming a better person. The healing process if you will...the reasoning behind her fucked up personality and such. **

**New chapter every weekend.**

**Love you guys. **

**Please review.**

**Enjoy :3**

* * *

He slammed one item after the other into the cardboard box near his desk.

_Bam—bam—clash!_

I winced when I heard glass break, feeling as if I was becoming physically smaller. Standing as far away from him as I could, I watched his irritated face as he pulled out the item he broke—a vase of some sorts. He cussed profusely before slamming it into the trashcan right next to me, barely missing my legs by a few inches and then continued to clean out the contents of the drawers.

I watched silently and picked at the fabric of my floral skirt, my heels killing my calves after a long day.

Stopping in his tracks, he slowly turned around to face me. I'm 100% sure that he didn't even know I'd been standing here for the last 10 minutes.

His face curled in confusion, and indefinite irritancy. "What?"

I didn't hesitate. "I'm sorry."

He held one hand up in a halting motion, and my mouth immediately slammed shut. "Shut the fuck up Phoebe. I mean it."

Curse me for almost allowing the condolence to pass my lips once again.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" He mocks in a wining tone. "You wouldn't know a sincere apology if it bit you in the ass!"

"Hey, now—" I warned softly, not entirely stern but not easy on the subject.

"Hey what?! Do you have any, any idea how difficult it is being less than filthy rich? I have to work for a living—you have everything handed to you. If you never worked a day in your life after today you'd still have absolutely no issue with paying your bills."

I stared at him incredulously. "You're parents are rich!"

He ran one hand through his thick brown locks and sighed. "My parents are _capable._" He stressed.

_Capable? The hell does that mean? _

"They're never late with the mortgage, but they can't buy fucking Venice, Phoebe. There's a difference between rich and filthy rich." He gestures between the two of us as he says it, and then rolls his eyes returning to launching things into the box. He pulls out all of his desk drawers in a synchronized order and empties them one by one, slamming them back into the desk afterwards. "You wouldn't know hard times if you were standing on a pile of bricks—in a frozen tundra—on Jupiter." The was definitely a joke, and I can't stifle my laugh.

He slams his hands on the desk and leans in towards me. "Don't laugh at my jokes! You don't deserve that luxury." I stopped laughing and my eyes moved to the floor as he continued to throw things into the trashcan.

He stopped again and stood still as if he's thinking of what he wants to say. Taking me by surprise he throws his hands up and groans. "And for God's sake!" His loud tone makes me jump, and he doesn't even bother to look up. "You're so fucking obtuse, woman! You're—for a lack of better words—mean, and you know you're mean…don't you?" He waited for me to answer.

I closed my eyes and wrap my arms around my waist for comfort, squeezing tightly. With a deep, long breath, I nod my head.

Telepathically, he knows that I nod my head and continues on. "Yeah you do—and you try to pretend as if you're this perfect little gem to the media. I've seen, or more like…_witnessed_ firsthand how you speak the press_. You_ are an entirely different person!" He finally turns around and points at me.

"How else am I supposed to act dude?" He was surprised by my word choice, as was I. "I'm a _public icon_. People are always idiolizing, people are always making bullshit up about me, and someone is _always_ waiting for me to screw up phenomenally. Hence I tarnish my family name—I can't allow that to happen, so what am I to do if not put on a mask to the world?"

"As long as you're happy who gives a _fuck_ what everyone else thinks god damnit?!"

"You think that being a bitch makes me happy?" His dark, beautiful eyes found the back of his head once more.

He doesn't miss a single beat. "Yes!" He yells exasperated.

I shake my head and look away. "You think you know me Blaise, but you don't. You don't know a damn thing."

He looks me up and down and—without his eyes leaving me for a second—picks a stress ball out of his box and throws it at my forehead.

It didn't hurt or anything, but it still took me by complete surprise and caused me to stumble backwards a few steps. With my eyes wide, I blinked once as if searching for answers within my own mind. I pulled a humorless, open-mouthed grin to his face. "Why did you just do that?"

He shrugged his shoulders and looks at me as if I'm retarded. "You didn't see that coming—right?"

_Seriosuly? _"No!" I remarked loudly.

"I bet you didn't think that you would be as shocked as you were when I did it either—" he pauses. "Right?"

"That's because I didn't expect you to do something as preposterous as that!" I bend down to pick up the stress ball off the floor and squeeze it tightly in my hand.

"Precisely my point, baby. You never _expect_ anything bad to happen to you, which is why you're always so high and mighty. You think that nothing can touch you—like you're on a pedestal, but the truth is…you're no less likely to get assaulted in the parking garage than any other person in the world."

I feel my heart drop into my stomach then, and tears begin to burn at the back of my eyes as I squeeze all of my emotions into the squishy little purple ball. "That's a low blow, Mr. Severin."

He shows no mercy when he continues with his tyranny. "It's also kind of similar to how much I did not _expect _to be stabbed in the back when I took this job. But you know what? I can't even blame you—the only person I can blame is my damn self for not keeping my dick in my pants." He laughs once, but there's no happiness behind it. "I was so captivated by you, just your very presence was unearthly to me, but then you had to open your mouth!" He popped his palm into his forehead. "You've done nothing but ruin my overall mental capacity. I lately find myself unable to even form full, articulate sentences when you're around. I can't think straight when you look up at me with those eyes, all you have to do is say it and it's done, no matter how much turmoil I will insight when it all comes to an end."

I bite my lip hard at his accusation. Moving over to the door that leads to the main office I slide it closed, gripping the handle tightly and stifling a sob. "I'm not perfect, this I know. I, however, don't need you to remind me of my imperfections _every single chance you get_ because you do _every single chance you get_. Don't you get it? I'm a disaster! My issues dig so much deeper than improper communication skills!" I scrunch my eyebrows together, where the hell _do_ my issues lie then?

He narrows his eyes and speaks to me in a hushed tone. "Honestly Phoebe? I don't care what the hell your problem is. You have given me little to no reason to give a _fuck_ about you. You need help—_Professional _help…okay?"

"You know what? When you're as high and mighty as I convey you learn things…simple things in fact but complex at the same time. You learn about people…all kinds of them, and you learn how no good they are, how completely and utterly useless they are. You learn how fake and genocidal they can be—where their true cynicism lies. I had to learn the hard, _hard _way that you can't let just anyone into your life, because people are just no—fucking—good. I swear."

"You don't think I know that?"

"I know people, I'm good with them—too good in fact. I can just look at someone and tell what they're all about, everything—the good, and the bad. Always have. My "

He looked confused then, his eyebrows kneading together as he crossing his arms. "What are you trying to say?"

"Isn't it obvious? Come on Mr. Severin, you're much, much smarter than that." I say silently, and he doesn't make an effort to respond, the confused expression still etched across his face. "What the hell I'm trying to say is I don't have the slightest idea about any aspect of your being at all. Nothing about you adds up or makes sense one minute you're up one minute you're out of control. You're the nicest guy I've ever met and the biggest asshole in the universe." I exhaled. "I don't understand you, and it's terrifying. I don't want to feel this way anymore, I just want to be myself again."

"Yourself…is a _lie_." He hisses through clenched teeth. "You don't know a damn thing about _yourself_, and I hate that about you. I hate a lot of things about you but that one takes the cake—you hate the person that you are…and you don't even know it."

"The lie that I put on is the only me that I know of. I can't imagine myself any other way."

He picks the box off the floor and drops it on the top of his desk. "Well that's your problem, isn't it? I fail to see how your fucked-up-ness pertains to me." I don't respond, I simply pad over to him and drop the stress ball into his box.

He takes me by surprise when he removes the ball and takes my hand, placing it firmly in my palm and squeezing it tightly around the squishy material. "You are going to need this a lot more than me." He says dryly. "Have a nice life, Miss Grey." He lifts the most likely 50 pound box off of his former desk with one hand and makes his way out of my office.

Stopping abruptly once more, he turns around and looks at me with a pained expression. "You know what, since I'm fired anyway I can say this with a clear conscience." He mumbles, and I prepare myself for the inevitable sting. "In another life, in another world. Where I wasn't a filthy clueless bastard and you weren't a conniving bitch—" Ouch. "I could have really loved you."

Words were gone for me as my jaw found the floor.

"And I mean _really_ loved you—hard."

I opened my mouth to speak. _Say something PHOEBE!_ I couldn't say anything, it was if I was in a glass bubble screaming at someone on the outside. _I could have loved you too—I love you now. Please, please. _I said nothing, but he wouldn't have listened anyway. _He hates me_. An internal war was playing inside of me—a cruel thing the human mind is. No matter how much your heart wants something, you're not allowed it because 'reason'comes in to play. I could feel my face heat in irritation—why the hell wont I just say it? Why can't I just say what I feel?

He laughed once and shook his head. "Bet you weren't _expecting _that—were you?" He murmurs almost inaudibly, and with that he pads down the long hallway and turns the corner. He's much too smart for his own good.

"Nope."


	3. Shutup, just shutup

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**New chapter every week on Saturday and every other week on Sunday.**

**Enjoy **

As I barely manage to slit my eyes open the sunlight manages to blind me immediately causing them the cringe closed again. I sneak a yawn across my wide bed and snuggle back against my fluffy Persian pillow. The clock reads 5:50…I'm usually not awake before my alarm sounds, that's rare. I flip over on my other side with still sleepy eyes and catch a glance of a dark looking figure sitting next to my bed.

Lifting my head up slightly, my eyes focus on who they are, and I smile slightly. "Morning, Dad." I say tiredly and lay my head back down to drift.

_Wait—WHAT?!_

I lift my head up more quickly this time and am 100% awake now. "DAD?"

"Good morning, Princess." He smiles as he sits coolly in his chair.

I cringe at the endearment. "Don't _princess_ me you weirdo!" He laughs once then, and my patience is bordering on insanity at this point. "What the hell are you doing in my room? IN MY HOUSE?!"

"Taylor and I were just making sure you were safe." He says with no shame.

"Taylor?" I ask puzzled, and my eyes wander to around the room until they meet Taylor's dark sun glasses, standing in the far right corner near my bathroom. I can feel my eye beginning to twitch now. "You cannot…be…_serious_." I hissed. "You idiots sat here and watched me sleep all night?!"

"Don't be silly Phoebe. We had to set up a perimeter and all of those fancy things—"

"Unnecessary things." I interject.

"We didn't get in here until around 3." He assures.

I bite my lip so as not to say something I can't take back. Exhaling deeply, I look to my overbearing father in all seriousness. "Dad—you _know_ that I hate being smothered. Do you remember what happened the last time you smothered me?"

His face is one of pure horror. He looks as if he's just witnessed a bloody murder right here and now. "Phoebe, that low." He says quietly, and a little regretful.

"You can't do this to me, Dad. I like my space, I like my independence—" I lean in closer to him so that he'll get the picture. "I want to be…_alone_." I say through clenched teeth.

He nearly smiles then, as if a damn thing I've just said is funny."You're like a carbon copy of me."

"If you understand how I feel, why do you insist on still doing this?"

"Because I care about you, Phoebe. And that's all there is to it." He says, and the subject—in his mind—has immediately been dropped.

"But I—" I try to remark, but he cuts me off when he tells Taylor to leave out of the room so that I can get ready for work. "Dad, I—"

"Get ready for work and then come on out for some breakfast." He commands softly as he pats my head.

I say nothing, which he seems unaffected by as usual. Filing out of the door behind Taylor, he takes me by complete and utter surprise when he slams the door as hard as humanly possible.

"What the fuck!?" I scream.

"Couldn't ignore that could you?" I hear him mutter behind the door.

"For the love of—" I flip the covers off of me and storm to my bathroom, slamming the door behind me.

"Back atcha!" I yell.

_break _

I emerge from my bathroom freshly showered and dressed in my tight crème pencil skirt and blood-red blouse, my hair slightly damp and in a bun at the nape of my neck. I slip my beige Aritzia jacket on, grab my Celine purse from off of my bed, and pick my heels off of the floor and hold them in my hand.

I crack the door open slightly and peek out. Looking both ways down the corridor as I would if crossing the street, I slip out of the room and creep down the hallway, opposite to the kitchen where my father waits for me. I figure I can slip through the back entrance that I only use when the elevators are down. Backing up down the hallway with my eyes towards the main living area, I desperately try to keep quiet. Luckily my floors aren't wood, but linoleum, otherwise they'd creek with every step. I figure the coast is clear and turn around to sprint down the hallway when I come into contact with a brick wall of a man. I stumble back and nearly fall on my ass, but he holds me up.

"Damn it all, Sawyer." I yell-whisper, using my bag to bang against his rock-hard chest several times. "You scared the shit out of me, you big idiot!"

"Begging your pardon Miss Grey." He bows slightly.

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Phoebe?!" I sigh.

"At least once more, ma'am." He says unconvincingly.

"Very well then—could you please move?" I ask sweetly.

"You know very well, Miss Grey, that I cannot." He says contritely.

"My dad is being a dick and you know it." I mumble irritated.

"He's just looking out for you, ma'am."

"It's as if he's brainwashed all of you!" I groan exasperatedly. "I mean honestly you can't disagree when I say that this is not normal—being followed around and watched all the time. It's just not right, it's fucking creepy!"

"I'm very sorry." He says simply, and with no emotion.

With one hand he motions me towards the kitchen and I hesitantly turn around and begin walking back down the hall. My dad is sitting at one of the stools in the island bar, when he hears my approach he peeks up from his newspaper.

"Trying to sneak away are we?" He scoffs proudly as he flips to another page and takes a sip of his coffee. I smile a sarcastic smile that doesn't touch my eyes.

"Yes, but your goons do a very good job of keeping me bottled up don't they? Lucky you."

"Indeed." He remarks without looking up, and then points to a plate eggs benedict, fresh fruit and some blueberry pancakes with a tall glass of orange juice on the bar next to him. "Eat."

"I'm not hungry." I test him, and can immediately see the gears beginning to turn in his head.

He folds his paper up and sets it down calmly. "Phoebe Grace Grey, don't you dare try me."

"Leave me alone and I'll eat."

"Absolutely out of the question." He remarks dryly.

"As is eating." I concur.

He exhales and rubs his face. "You need to eat."

"I need to be alone."

"Perhaps we should schedule another appointment with Flynn for today." He offers.

"Absolutely not."

He points to the plate again and this time there's no room for argument or backtalk. "Eat. Now." He grits.

I just stare at him without moving for a long while, my eyes never leaving his—Grey to grey.

"FINE!" I holler, dropping my bag on the counter and my heels on the floor and sliding onto the stool beside him. "Who made this?" I ask, surely he didn't cook this.

"I had the chef come up earlier." He says as he waits for me to eat.

When I pick my fork up and take a bite of my eggs I see him visibly relax. Yeah sure, so long as he's happy everyone else's piece of mind means nothing, right? He picks up his newspaper and begins to read again.

"Toyota's down again—heh, figures." He mutters inaudibly reguarding this morning's stock values.

I ignore his obsolete observation. "Surely Mother would not approve of your reckless behavior—I wish she was here." I say between bites.

He doesn't look up from his newspaper. "You're mother is fully aware of my actions as I've already spoken to her in detail about the situation."

My eyes flicker open and closed as I just look at him unbelievingly. "_Vous mentez!"_ I yell incredulously.

"_Je ne mens pas, et finir de manger_." He says coolly.

"Ssssss" I hiss as I continue my forced upon me breakfast.

After he makes me down every drop of my orange juice, we hop on the elevator and take it to the lobby. Taylor is waiting when the doors pull apart along with the other 5 body guards lingering around the lobby casually. Involuntarily, my eyes find the back of my head, luckily he doesn't see me.

I look to my father with disgust. "You're terrible."

"Call me Ivan." He puns.

_No._

"And don't roll your eyes at me, Phoebe. You know better." He warns. How did he even—wow.

"Sir, we're all clear." Taylor says to my dad, and we begin to walk out of the elevator and straight to the front door where I see my father's Audi—the one he's usually chauffeured around in.

"Please tell me you're not driving me too?" I protest, although I already know the answer and that there's no arguing with it.

His eyebrows pull together in confusion as we continue walking at a steady pace. "I'm not driving you."

This surprises me, and I find myself releasing a breath of air in relief. "Whew."

"Taylor is driving the both of us, of course." My head snaps over to his amused profile, and I can see that he's trying to stifle his laugh. I could barely believe my awful, awful luck with a father this controlling and overbearing. I'm a 24-year-old woman and he's treating me as if I'm a 14-year-old pop diva with all of this security and invasiveness. I hate to be crowded, I hate being surrounded unnecessarily. I can't even share a cab with someone I don't know. Privacy is a very large aspect of who I am, and I can feel it slowly being stripped away again as it did when I was a teenager. I've worked much too hard to get where I am now to be simply thrown back into the position that I was 7 or 8 years ago.

"How long do you intend to drag this out, Dad?"

"Until I believe that you are truly safe without me here."

"I am! It's just a little stalker—he seemed harmless enough." I pout.

"A harmless stalker? Well if that's not an oxymoron for the ages." He mutters sarcastically.

I resist the urge to say 'you're an oxymoron' by biting my lip, and a small chuckle escapes.

"Phoebe?" Taylor snaps me out of my idiocy. My father's already seated in the car and Taylor is waiting patiently for me to slide in. "Are you ready ma'am?"

"Oh, right." I stammer and slide in beside him.

"Whatever you were thinking about had to be funny." He says as he observes me closely.

"Hilarious." I brush him off, but if he notices he doesn't show as he continues to blabber on and on to me about my safety and why I take it for granted the entire way to Grey House.

_Break_

"Are you alright, Miss Grey?" Ms. Morris asks worriedly from behind her desk as I approach my office. I ignore her and drop my purse and coat on her desk, walking into my office and locking the door behind me.

_I hate that woman._ She's flaky as hell, she never makes my coffee right, and she wouldn't know a decent workflow chart if it stabbed her in the neck. She's riding on 50 years of age and I'm pretty sure she has dementia, but she's literally the only person that my father would approve of. Everyone else, he says, was 'too energetic' for being my personal assistant. I swear that I want to throw up—it's happening again. I'm being controlled, and if there's one thing I hate above all things, it's having someone up my ass 24-hours a day.

"Shit." I scream at the top of my lungs.

_Fuck everything!_

I haven't felt this empty in a long, long time. I'm so irritated, and for no distinct reason either.

There's a very timid tap on the other side of my door. "Miss Grey? Are you alright." Redundancy.

"Go…_away._" I hiss.

"But—"

"I SAID GO AWAY OR YOU'RE FIRED!" I immediately hear her scurry back to her desk and sit down, and I can swear that I hear her sobbing quietly.

For the love of—I didn't intend to make that old lady cry. I swallow my pride and open my office door. She's sitting at her desk typing something on the computer with tears running down her crinkly face. Great—you've done it now Phoebs.

I stand in front of her as I scratch my head in search of what to say. I'm not good with apologies…I don't give them very often. In fact I can't remember the last time I gave anyone a proper, full whole-hearted apology.

"Ms. Morris." I mumble, and she turns slowly to face me.

"Please don't fire me." She sniffles, and more tears pour from her eyes. I'm just awful.

"Ms. Morris of course I'm not going to fire you—" If I do I'll have no personal assistant forever. "I'm going through a very difficult time in my life right now and, well…" I wander off into my own thoughts. "I'm just trying desperately to keep my cool but at the same time maintain my demeanor. I'm so _irritated_, you have no idea!" I groan.

"Oh." She says simply, her small brown eyes alight with wonder.

"So yeah, that's how it is, I'm so sorry for yelling at you and threatening to take your job away." I shrug, not knowing what else to say.

"You're very much forgiven, Miss Grey." She smiles widely.

"Jolly good show." I say exhaustedly. Whoa—being a good person tired you out, doesn't it?

I turn around and walk back into my office, closing the door behind me.

"Did I really just say Jolly good show?"


	4. Month Two and a Half

**Sorry for the late update—I was sick last week...like pukey sick, haha! So you might get another chapter tomorrow (don't count on it). Hope you like this one…it's a beforehand chapter again told in the past tense! I hate writing in the past tense btw—yucky. Don't forget to review this chapter everyone! It's fairly long and I'm proud of myself for overcoming my laziness and giving you quantity this time.**

**I read Beautiful Bastard like one of you suggested a few days ago while I was bed-ridden…LOVED IT. So clean cut and nicely written with a great storyline and likeable characters and WOW. I plan on buying all the sequels. Thank you so much—to me that was a huge compliment and I officially love you.**

**To the person who doesn't like the way Phoebe speaks to her father, and then suggested I go read another fanfiction to tell me how I should write **_**mine**_**. **

**Balls to you.**

**That is all.**

**Enjoy.**

After _his_ departure, I found myself going out almost every night and getting wasted before fumbling home, collapsing on the bed and sleeping for hours on end for reasons that I myself couldn't pinpoint exactly. I was just sad, and angry—frustrated. I wanted to hit something hard with my fists, but typical me, I couldn't out of the fear that the blow might be painful...such a coward. I was tired of being so tired, and day 72 was probably the worst of all the days that proceeded by far, because it was when I finally came into contact with my own shame, and that was absolutely terrifying.

My very best was put into keeping my head in the game and staying alert when we went out that night. It was an unexpectedly cold Monday, and by cold I mean it was much too cold for August—even late August. I was shivering in my huge down coat as I snuggled closer to Beth and Ava who were on either side of me. Bethany, one of my favorite people in the whole world went out with me most of the time, usually when Ava couldn't make it. We met a few years back when I was travelling in London on a family vacation and we never lost touch. Eventually, she decided to settle down in Seattle and make a career out of her shoe boutique, which is now one of the most famous boutiques in Washington.

She never asked questions—and I love that about her—she's not an invasive person. I never fully told her about the Personal Assistant incident, but I gave her a pretty good synopsis like a while back, though I never told her that we engaged in a…physical…relationship. I couldn't bring myself to do it—I was too scared of what she might have thought.

Standing just behind us were Benny and Teddy who usually wouldn't tag along with us but we were actually going to a new club, and this was their opening night. Plus, I was leaving on a business trip to L.A. the next day, and would be gone for two weeks straight. The urge for a mini-going away party itched at me for days before I finally gave up with a 'what the hell!'.

Outside of the elegantly dressed night club polished to perfection with glass windows feathered in chrome, there were cool blue neon letters just above the golden-trimmed double doors which read _Pries_ in delicate cursive. The red carpet stretched on for what seemed like miles down the overflowing line of people just behind us. I glanced back to see Teddy lean over and whisper something in Benny's ear, Benny then proceeded to plant his elbow dead into Teddy's stomach.

"Oh screw you." Teddy grumbled as he massaged his aching stomach. "You know I'm right."

"Right about what?!" Ava chimed ever so nosily.

"Nunya." Benny snarled.

"Loser." She rebutted.

"Can we all be adults here?" Beth rolled her eyes as she snuggled closer to me to stay warm, and that got a laugh out of Teddy somehow.

"Ah-dults." Teddy mocked. Beth has a very warm English accent and Teddy finds humor in mocking every other thing that she says.

"Get mature." Ava hissed. "Teddy Bear." She mocked accordingly.

"Go to hell Ava." Teddy smiled a humorless smile.

"I'm freezing my nips off out here! When can we go inside?" I squeaked. We were literally the first people in the line because of Beth's friendship with the owner's wife, Meredith. I've never actually met her but from what Beth tells me she's a pretty solid person, and she's got us in the front of that line of maybe 1000 people so she can't be half bad.

"The club doesn't officially open its doors for another—" She glanced down at her watch. "—2 minutes." I wanted to scream then. "You think that after waiting a spell they'd at least let us into the lobby."

"You'd think." Benny added sarcastically.

I craned my neck up to the huge meaty bouncer guys with the black rimmed sunglasses o. Jeez—even at 10 o-clock a night they find the need to wear those? I wonder if they can see anything, it's so dark. "Scuse me." I said timidly to the beefy black guy with the buzz cut. He looked down to me angrily, I could actually see the veins popping out of his forehead. "Er—uh—could we go in? ….Please?"

"Not until we're open you can't." He said, his voice was low and deep, impossibly deep.

"Kay then." I smiled, and couldn't see his eyes rolling behind his glasses, but I know he did.

"Patience, Phoebe." Bethany pats my arm with one hand as she holds my arm with the opposite. "It's a virtue darling."

"Bethany?!" An excited female voice yelps. We all turned around in unison at the sound of someone else's name and take in a beautiful middle aged woman with long blonde hair that reached the back of her kneecaps and a face that men die for. Her dress was skin tight and painfully short, stopping right above her thighs and showing off her long, tanned legs. Thousands of dollars worth of diamonds dripped from her ears and neck and her big hazel eyes sparkled along with them in unison.

"Meredith, thank God. I thought that we were going to waste away in this bloody weather in this bloody line!" Beth yelled as she clutches tighter to me.

"I thought that patience was a virtue, Beth." I said dryly.

"Who needs virtue when you have warmth!?" She asked as if it's the most obvious thing in the world which caused us all to laugh.

"Come on in, little cold ones." Meredith cooed. "I don't see any trouble in letting us open just a little earlier. Today is a special day! It's the first day of forever. Let 'em in Bo, Sho." She said to the scary bouncer men. I have to fight back the urge to laugh at their ridiculous names.

When the red velvet rope is removed from in front of us we're escorted through the huge golden doors by none other than the goddess co-owner herself.

The club gyrated as we made our way through the beautifully painted jet-black lobby and onto the enormous dance floor which, very tastefully, made up a good 70% of the entire building. Splashes of blinding colors bounce back and forth from the crystallized floor and ricochet off of the marble black ceiling. I'm instantly high from the very feel of the place, the way that the floor shakes and beats into me with every beat, and the way that for just a split second I'd see thousands of things while the lights above flicker back and forth, and then I nothing but blindness when they come to their brief transitions.

The fact that we're the first ones in means nothing, the club has a life of its own without the need of human contact. Nevertheless, people were pouring in group by group behind us, and before we knew it the club was packed.

Ava took the opportunity to nudge me in my side when Meredith finally settles us into our huge private booth that hangs above the club on a platform titled in a gold plaque reading "V.I.P.". "This place is un-freaking-believable!" She sings into my ear.

"Who are you telling?" I fail to contain my excitement.

A very clean cut petite brunette lady with the clubs uniform approached our table with a tray of drinks. "Great timing!" Meredith smiled widely, revealing a pair of beautiful white teeth which can be seen clearly even under the slight darkness. "This ones on the house. Thank you so much Beth for all the good you've done for us, dear." Her voice was sincere as the brunette girl—whose name was Pat according to her name tag that I'd just barely spotted—finished setting our drinks in front of us.

I could see Beth's bright red flush beneath the flashy lights. "It's nothing."

"Enjoy!" She says as she looks to all of us. "Tell your friends." And with that she was out and about to welcome the now overflowing crowd below us to her new club.

"I'd like to make a toast!" Teddy said before I could even put the bubbly amber drink to my mouth.

"To what?" Ava said confusedly.

Teddy then looked to Benny. "To Benny! Congratulations on becoming a father last week! May parenthood be nothing but smooth sailing for you." He said sincerely.

"Say goodbye to freedom, yeah?" Beth added, and we all laughed, that is discluding Benny.

"Ha—Ha—Haaa." He says mechanically.

"Cheers!" Her huge smile could have lit up a stadium.

"Speaking of the baby—" I added. "Shouldn't you be with your fiancé and child instead of out partying with us on a Saturday?"

"Nah…Tasha and Ivan are spending the weekend with my mother-in-law." He made a disgusted face. "They won't be back 'til Monday."

"Great! That means we can—"

"I'm not going to a strip club with you." Benny remarked dryly and then took a gulp of his drink.

"Stingy bastard." Teddy sulked in a deadpan tone.

"You're ideas of fun are unparalleled by your flabbergasting stupidity." He adds.

"What the hell are you trying to say?" Teddy grumbled offended.

"I'm pretty sure he just said it." I tried to contain my laughter as best as I could.

"Is your brain too tiny to comprehend big words, big cousin?" Ava teased.

"Get a clue, Ava. You're the only one at this table who didn't finish college." Teddy said amusingly. Ava dropped out of Yale a little after her Softmore year saying 'I'm rich, what the hell do I need college for?'

"By choice!" She yelped, slamming her empty glass against the small granite table in front of us and effectively droning out the blaring music of the room for a split second. "Choice! I'm not stupid."

_Beg to differ._

"Whatever the circumstance—"

"When did this turn into a hostile environment? Aren't we all here to wish Phoebe a good business trip before she voyages off to Los Angeles for the next few weeks?" Benny tried to calm the mood as he always does. He's always been the type of guy to get us loving one another again.

"I agree." Beth concurs, nodding so that her bright red curls hit her tiny shoulders repeatedly.

"Whatever." Ava groaned, and Teddy stood and began to move towards the stairs near the far right of the platform.

"Where are you going, Ted?" I asked, hoping he wasn't angry.

"To get something harder than this second rate soft pinky alcohol she's given us." He grunted, and padded down to the long, elegant glass bar below.

"Ever the snippy billionaires son." Benny said dryly.

"He's just been a bit frustrated with business lately." I defended my brother who's not usually so temperamental.

"That so? How?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but before words could come out, a strange man was hovering beside our private booth.

"Long time no see, Michael." Beth yelled over the music to the unfamiliar man. I couldn't make out his features very well due to the lack of light near our booth. But what caught me even more was the big, scary hulky guy standing just behind him who was—without a doubt—his bodyguard.

"Looking ravishing as usual Miss Savage."

"What brings you to this nick of the woods?" She said ever so casually while I was still trying to figure out who the hell the guy was.

"Still working on Meredith, of course."

_Working on her?_

I looked to Beth with my 'what the hell' face, and she immediately leaned in to whisper to me. "He wants to fuck Meredith, he's been trying to get under her skirt since they were mates in university."

"Cool. Who is he, though?" I ask.

"Michael Aikawa, his great great great grandfather created Nisan, and now he owns it—family business." She mumbles, and then rolls her eyes.

My mouth drops open as I attempt to analyze him again. "Nisan? As in—_The_ Nisan?"

"Indeed." He said in an unbelievably modest tone. He stepped a bit closed and I could finally make out the features of his face, and honestly, they made my heart skip several beats. He was absolutely breathtaking with deep, deep dark eyes that I still couldn't make out the color because of the lack of light. Sculpted jaw, thick jet-black hair styled neatly, and lips made especially for the purpose of pleasing a woman. He was definitely Asian and there was no doubting that, and possibly some sort of European. He was gorgeous, it was insane.

Shaking my head free of all thoughts, I return to reality with my sanity. "Isn't Meredith…I don't know…married?" I say incredulously.

"Not for long." He said simply and doesn't elaborate. I look to Beth again and she shrugs her shoulders. Then I look to Ava and her jaw is on the floor, I reach over and push her jaw back into place.

She reached her hand out to the stranger, ever the bold one as usual. "Ava Grey—not married, single." She smiles.

"Charmed." He said quickly without shaking her hand or even looking at her.

_Ouch—I felt that one from over here..._

"I'll tell you this now, mate whether it's this husband or the 30th, she's never going to budge." Beth giggled.

"Soon." He said to her in all seriousness.

"It's been 26 years Michael, don't you think it's time to admit that you want to do more than just put your schlong inside of her?"

_Holy—he's been trying to hook up with her since before Teddy was born? That's definitely beyond infatuation._

"I could do that, but then I'd be letting go of my virtue don't you think?"

Beth took a small sip of her drink and glanced over to Benny who was consoling Ava after having her mini-heartbreak. "Virtue is a strong word." She rolls her eyes.

"So is fuck." He counters.

_Can't argue with that._

My eyes glaze over and land on my brother in front of the bar below, making his moves on a stunning blonde girl who seems completely uninterested. Rare.

I took another hard look at the irreversibly rich, beautiful entrepreneur standing just beside me. He has to be in his late thirties, and he looked like a million dollars—strike that—he looked like an infinite amount of dollars.

"Phoebe Grey." He said without hesitation, the sound of my name coming out of his mouth made me jump.

"Er—Hello?" I had no idea how he knew my name, I'd heard of him—who in the business world hasn't? But I'd never met, nor even _seen _him before. Perhaps it was because we didn't exactly work in the same field and we had no real purpose to actually meet each other.

"I'm sorry, but I don't quite know who you are. A former employee of mine worked for you for a short period of time." He said apologetically.

"Former employee?" I was very confused. I don't remember typing a recommendation letter to Nissan Zaibatsu for any of my former employees. He saw just how confused I was and laughed at my expression.

"You are quite adorable, sweetheart."

"I'm sorry, by former employee—I don't quite know who you mean?" I said questioningly.

"He said that he was your personal assistant for a short couple of months, and usually with such an impressive work background I would request someone of your stature send me a recommendation, but his resume was extraordinary and his history in itself was unmatchable so we—" I lost the ability to hear anything at that point. Everything became nothing but a faint ringing in my ears—the music, the sound of screams and laughters coming from the dancefloor, the clacking and crashing of glasses and plates coming back and forth, and the sound of his voice when his mouth formed into the two forbidden words.

…"_Blaise Severin"…_

"—be…phoebe!…PHOEBE!" Beth nudged me hard with her elbow. "Are you okay?" I just stared at her.

"I would ask for your opinion of his work ethics now but he sent in his letter of resignation and then disappeared a few months back."

"Why's that?" Beth asks.

"No idea. Shame losing a brilliant mind like his—he would have made it far in my company going at the rate he was."

"Shame indeed." Beth says, looking to me. I can see the suspicion in her eyes, and see the emotion flash across the eyes telling me that I would be spilling my guts to her later.

I stood quickly and moved from the booth and in front of him and reached out to shake his hand, he took it with no hesitation. I didn't look back, but I knew Ava was using her eyes as a power drill to my head. "Mr. Aikawa it was nice to meet you, but if you'll excuse me."

"Of course." He said simply.

I rushed down the stairs in my painfully high heels and tight metallic skirt, onto the dance floor, past the bar and then straight to the bathroom far, far back into the club down the posh hallway brimmed with artwork that I didn't stop to take note of.

When I got to the bathroom it was dead empty, but I took caution of rushing to the stall farthest from the door and locking it behind me. I collapsed on the closed seated toilet behind me my hands on either side of the stall so as to keep myself balanced.

"What the hell is wrong with me?" I breathed, balling my hair at the scalp with my fists.

"_Who made you this __**way**__baby? You're so heartless."_

"Heartless? Me?" I felt my teeth begin to worry my bottom lip. "Who the hell are you anyway? You're just some asshole who didn't give a shit about me, you fucked me and ran away...and _I'm _the heartless one? Why do I care what you think—you're nothing to me…" Why does just the very mention of him make my body shake? All of the feelings that I had successfully suppressed thus far were boiling over, and it hurt—it was _painful._

"Fuck!" I whimpered, kicking the stall door.

"Phoebe?" I heard a familiar male voice.

Letting go of my hair I looked up to the stall door and blinked. "Teddy?" I said almost inaudibly.

"Are you okay kiddo?"

"I don't think you've quite noticed Teddy, but this is the women's restroom. You can get us thrown out dummy." I tried to hide the pain in my voice with a joking tone.

"I saw you dash past me with a worried expression. I called but you didn't answer—I'm just making sure you're alright."

"I'm fine, really just—a bit tipsy."

"Would you like to me to take you home?" He asked.

I entwined my hands with each other to stop them from shaking. "No, I just need—a minute..."

"Okay well I can wait." He said, and I hear him pad across the bathroom to the door, clicking the lock shut. "Take all the time you need." He mumbled before pulling his phone out and—texting someone I believe.

"Teddy this is a public restroom—women are going to need to get in here." I groaned, placing my face in my shaking hands.

"You'd do well to hurry then, wouldn't you? 'Cause I'm not leaving out of here without you."

"You're so overbearing." I groaned.

He snorted. "Runs in the family."

"Phoebe?" His voice was like mom's…warm milk—and liquid gold to the heart. It made me feel safe, just like hers always did. Whenever I was scared of the thunder, or I was sick, or sad, or just couldn't sleep she would talk to me, and it was like I was on cloud nine…everything was peace and heaven on Earth. "You know you can tell me anything—right? You always have…and no matter what you'll always be able to...you know this…?"

"Yeah Teddy—I know."

"Well?"

I mustered every ounce of courage that I could find—I needed to speak—I needed to say something…anything...the littlest thing.

"I…_can't._" I stammered out breathlessly. I can't bring myself to speak about him, I don't want to convulse anymore. Even when he's nowhere in my spectrum he still finds ways to make my body lose control.

Teddy let out a breath and leaned his back against the stall door. "Y'know…" He said contritely. "I'm sure he thinks about you too, Phoebe."

My head lifted from my hands in utter shock, and I stared horrifically at the stall door. "H-how did you—"

"I may be a fool, Phoebe Grace—but I'm damn sure not an idiot. You insult me—really."

"Shit." I whimpered, but no tears came out. Everything was so numb…I could barely feel my own heart beating against my chest.

"I don't know what to do with myself. I'm losing my mind over a guy that I barely even knew…what the hell is wrong with me?"

He laughed once, and it made me shake even harder. "I'm not a genius, little sister and I obviously can't speak to you from an experienced point of view…but you're clearly in love with the guy."

I shook my head violently. "That's impossible." My voice was low, scornful.

"And why the hell is that?" He asked, clearly irritated.

"You can't love someone you hate."

"Phoebe there's a very, very fine line between love and hate. They're like water and oil—"

I rolled my eyes at the horrible example. "Water and oil don't even mix."

"Precisely, they can never mix—but they coexist."

"So what are you saying exactly?"

"I'm saying Phoebe—it's the latter." He then turns around so that he's facing the stall at an attempt of speaking directly to me. "Honestly…for someone as damn smart as you are Phoebe, you're making this a lot more difficult than it has to be."

"So I'm a difficult person…what of it?"

"So Miss Complexity…do you honestly think that you would be in a bathroom stall in the middle of a nightclub freaking out over a guy that you hate? I think you're a little bit better than that Phoebe, if not please correct me."

I couldn't take his blunt honesty any more than that. "Why don't you just fuck off Teddy!"

"Geez! What the hell happened to my little sister? You used to be so nice way back when."

"I was folly. I apologize for the misconceptions."

"No, you're jaded—that's all that is. I miss the sister who was more honest with her feelings, never cursed, was disgustingly polite to everyone she met because she was just a naturally sweet soul, and baked me cookies." The last one made me roll my eyes.

"I baked you cookies one time you idiot."

"You're so dignified and mean, it breaks my heart to see you so messed up."

'—_so messed up…so __**heartless.**__"_

"SHUTUP!" I scream. "JUST GO AWAY!"

"Phoebs…"

"GO! NOW!"

I hear the hesitation in his footsteps as the lock clicks open and the door opens and shuts.

"Just stop."

* * *

I caught a taxi back to my apartment right after I left the bathroom—I couldn't stand to be around other people then, it was too much for me. Making sure I send out an apology text to everyone before I got out of the taxi and paid the driver, I started up to my apartment.

The cold rush of air hit me immediately after the elevator doors pushed open. It was deathly silent in my huge apartment as per usual, but I never realized just how quiet it was until that night. It was calming, in the most terrifying way, but it was home, and it was safe.

I took a scalding hot shower and collapsed on my bed in my silk nightie, not bothering to dry my long wet damp hair after squeezing it and pulling it into a simple ponytail. The cotton sheets were definitely going to need a washing in the morning.

I sighed…I hate doing laundry, thinking I could hire someone to do it for me, but I don't feel comfortable having someone else do something that I can do for myself—it makes me feel…useless.

My cellphone dinged on the nightstand and I reached over to grab it.

***WAY TO DITCH US BITCH! YOU OWE ME ONE! -AVA***

I stared deadpan at the screen and then tossed it across the bed again.

My mind did a theoretical _ding_ and I sprang up unconsciously, reaching for my cell again. I held it in my hand and began to worry my bottom lip with my teeth. I tapped into my contacts and scrolled down until I reached _Severin_. It had slipped my mind to delete his contact information when he resigned, and it was still prominent in my phone, though I wasn't sure if it was still his cell number or if he'd changed it.

I read the number once and then went to my keypad to dial it out manually, adding *67 in front so he couldn't recognize the number. Before I hit Call, I paused, thoughts flying through my head so fast it began to give me a migrane.

_Do you really want to do this Phoebe? It's not like you to be so brash._

No, it's uncharacteristic of me to do something like this but…

'_I miss the sister who was more honest with her feelings.'_

I laughed once. "More honest, huh?" I don't think it can get more honest than this…

Before I knew it my finger was on the call button and the phone was dialing.

_Brr…Brrrr…Brr…Brr…_

I pressed to phone to my ear, and just then it clicked on.

"Hello?" The most enticing, sexy, familiar voice pierced my eardrums and sent an electrical pulse to my belly, making it turn inside out. It felt as if the wind had been knocked clean out of me, and I could barely breathe. So many emotions ran through my mind in that moment—happiness, sorrow, apathy, longing, fright—lust. My face began to heat. This was his true power—what he does to me, and it's only his voice that I'm hearing. I wanted nothing more to just be in his arms right then, but I couldn't—he hated me. He hates me. Why wouldn't he—I'm a mess.

"Hellooo, anybody there?" He said playfully, and I covered my mouth to muffle the sob. "I'm hanging up." He waited a second or two for a response, and with that the phone clicked to an end.

I stared at the blank screen for what felt like hours.

Why did I do that? And furthermore…why do I not regret the fact that I did?

I collapsed back onto my bed and squeezed my pillow tightly.

_I do need professional help._


	5. Not So Much Another Day

**I didn't have time to grammar check or even re-read this so it probably has a shit load of errors on it.**

**Better something that nothing though, huh? **

**Enjoy. (:**

Being on total lockdown has been a joy—and that is not for the record, sarcasm. I enjoy having every single aspect of my very existence moderated and critiqued. I love having 4 to 5 security guards under my ass and following me around 24/7, and I damn sure embrace the fact that they limit my working ethics to my office and home. I can't even have lunch with my cousin in a downscale café in the city for a measly _hour _without the privilege of independence. Sawyer and Dutch sit patiently in a booth on our far left waiting for me to finish patiently, sipping their coffee's and remaining alert as ever. I roll my eyes hard—this is absurd.

That being said, when I was around the age of 14—my brother, Theodore was 16 and for 3 months straight he'd been stalked by some sadistic clown girl names Delilah. Delilah had a les-than-modest attraction to him and it spanned over the course of a year. Her stalking him had been taken no more seriously by my father than a piece of bread fallen onto the floor faced down. Just remembering the ordeal gives me a headache.

"Do you think I'm a skank?" Ava asks as she picks at the food on her plate, effectively breaking me free from every and all thoughts.

Random. I choke on my latte a fraction, and use my fist to bang at my chest. "Beg your pardon?" I ask sweetly.

"ANSWER THE QUESTION PHOEBE!" She yells at the top of her lungs, causing the entire café to go silent and turn to us. This café is usually very quiet no matter how many people are here. Even the tiniest pen drop echoes throughout these great cocoa walls.

I smile shyly at our audience and then proceed to glare at Ava. Her mouth is always getting us into a world of trouble. "Ava, you're not a skank—per se…" My thoughts begin to trail off.

"What would you characterize me under, then?" She growls offended, dropping her fork onto the wooden table.

"Someone who needs to keep their voice down, perhaps?" I mutter, motioning for her to lower her voice.

"Damn it all, Phoebe! If you think I'm a harlot tell me now!"

"Ava, you're not a whore, ok? You're just too—" …What word can I use that wont make me a bitch? "Available?" I ask myself.

"Available?" She plays with the word. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

I use my pointer fingers to massage my temples. "Where is this all coming from anyway?"

She picked up her fork and began playing with her food again. "Ora." She then peeks up at me through her thick, full blonde lashes.

My face twists into discuss at her confession. "Ora? That snobby bitch that your brother used to screw? What the hell?"

"I saw her the other day at a party down in Bellevue."

I can feel my eyes widening. "A party—near Grandma and Grandpa's house?" She nodded. "A house party in uptown Seattle? What are you, 17?"

"It was _not _a house party okay? It was this guy's promotional party…" She says dismissively and then proceeds to shrug.

I roll my eyes. "Was his 'promotion party' inside of a house?"

"…Yes, but—"

"I rest my case…but that aside. What did Ora say?" Ora was a bitch, and she knew she was a bitch. She was _not _an appealing person, looks-wise nor personality-wise. She had this nasty tendency of making people feel like shit—hell—she almost got under my skin once upon a time saying I would be nothing without my parents—which is true, but she didn't have to say it. She slept with Benny which disgusted us all to no remorse, and then attempted to sleep with Teddy—thank gosh the horny bastard has standards, or I wouldn't have been able to live down the shame—we all know Ava hasn't.

She sat up with the upmost attention.

"She called me a skank, and she dared to tell me that I'd probably never have a decent relationship ever! Who the heck does this witch thinks she is anyway? I mean—she's no saint either, especially considering the fact that she was with Bennett, and then factoring all of the tramps that he's been with—we've got a cesspool of atrociousness—all floating around her infected vagina." She says scornfully as she grips her fork so tightly that her knuckles begin to turn white.

I nearly choke on my own spit with that last statement. "Geez, Ava—calm down." I attempt to sputter out in a calm tone, but snort in response instead.

"I mean, REALLY?! Skank? Me?" We were beginning to get strange looks again and if there's one thing in the world that I'd want to avoid being more than anything else—it's a spectacle.

Finishing up the rest of my latte, I stand and sling my large over coat around my shoulders followed by my cozy crème scarf.

"First of all Ava—you're at fault for being in that kind of situation to begin with. Who the hell goes to house parties with people they barely know?" She opens her mouth to speak again but I quickly shut her up with the halting motion of my hand. "Second—if you don't want to be called a skank—don't behave like a skank!" I tuck my scarf into my jacket and press the palms of my hands onto the table to lean closer towards her, I whisper "You're a great person Ava, you've just got a lot of issues that you need to work out for yourself…got it?" I ask sweetly and she nods in awe.

I turn around to see that Sawyer and Dutch are standing by, waiting for our departure. I turn to Ava and give her a big smile and a wave. "I'll be in touch, dear."

She sits there for a second still stunned by my words, and then smiles with a small shake of the head. Picking up her coffee mug, she takes a sip and mumbles from behind the cup, "You really are too perfect for your own good, Phoebe Grey."

My cheeks heat at the word—perfect. Yeah right…

"Far from it, Ava Grey." I reassure. With that, I turn and walk out through the café doors, Dutch and Sawyer willfully behind me.

The wave of coldness hits me immediately after I hit the sidewalk and I instinctively pull the coat tighter around my small frame. "Damn it, November!" I seethe. I loathe the cold—it's evil. In my own personal hell it's not hot with flames—but below 5 and snowing infinitely.

Though there's no snow just yet, I've committed myself to staying snuggled up with a cup of hot chocolate and my favorite book, Pride and Prejudice for hours over the weekends. The thought makes me smile, being so introverted.

Dutch opens the back door of the company's black Audi and allows me clearance as Sawyer hops into the driver's seat and starts the car. "Thank you, Dutch." I smile as I move closer towards the car.

Before I can get a grip on anything I feel a sharp thud into my shoulder and I'm on the cement, my eyes wide and confused.

_Holy shit—what the hell was that? _

"MISS GREY!" Dutch hollers as he attempts to lift me from the group and back to my feet. My legs feel like pudding and my chest understandably sore from the impact.

"Are you alright, Miss?!" Sawyer's panic make me chuckle slightly seeing as I've never seen him so worked up before.

"I'm fine—I'm pouring out blood anywhere, am I?" I smile, patting Dutch's arm to let him know I'm fine to stand on my own.

"No, ma'am." He says scornfully, turning his attention to the source of the impact.

A young woman, who can't be any older than 25 looked terrified up to Sawyer and Dutch, and I could see her body actively shaking as she sat stock still on the rough sidewalk, the contents of her purse sprawled all over. She was tiny and pale with brown hair pulled into a tight ponytail and beautiful thin brown eyes. I moved closer to her and she timidly flinched when I reached my hand out.

"Are you alright?" I ask sweetly. Poor thing, Sawyer and Dutch probably scared her halfway into an eternity and back. She looks suspiciously at my hand for a moment, and then hesitantly takes it. When I pull her up, I finally take note of the huge rip that she's made in her skirt. "Shame to see such a pretty piece of clothing go to waste."

"I'm so sorry for running into you, Miss—I was really in a hurry I wasn't paying any att—." I shake my head dismissively, waving the cumbersome ordeal off entirely.

"Don't worry about it." I shrugg. Now had she ran into me and made me fall down like this three to four months ago—I would've been looking to have her deported back to Asia. "It happens."

Bending down, I begin to help her pick some of her things off the ground and place them back into her purse. I look over to Dutch and Sawyer, "Help." I mouth to them, and hesitantly they do.

After we finish picking all of her things off the ground, she thanks me thirty times, bowing her head—I immediately assumed that she was Japanese for no reason, though a lot of Asian cultures bow as a sign of respect.

"Don't mention it."

"Miss Grey, it's time we get you back." Sawyer insists. I look to Dutch and he nods his chunky head in agreement.

"Grey?" The girl asks, working my name into her system. "You wouldn't happen to be—Phoebe Grey would you?" She asks as if it's an absolute impossibility.

"That would be me…" I say suspiciously…looking heavenward. Sawyer now looks much stiffer than he did before, stepping slightly in front of me.

"What a small world!" She says gleefully, slapping her palms together.

_Yeah, it's not every day you run face-first into a billionaire's daughter._

My eyebrows pull together slightly. "Do I know you?"

"No, but you must certainly know of my fiancée—" And why the hell would I know him? My expression becomes even tighter. "Blaise—Blaise Severin?"

My world begins to fall apart around me right then and there. What the hell is up with this guy anyway? One minute he's no where to be found, and the next minute he's the air I breathe. Nowhere, and then everywhere—it's so off putting.

"What?" I ask as my heart begins to skip several beats. "Fiancée?" Who is this? The second person I've met in the last two months who's seen him—and his fucking fiancée at that?! I think I'm going to hurl.

_Whoa—he moves on quick. Not that we had anything anyway. _

I begin to rethink deporting her ass as she swoons unashamedly over me. "Who are you?" I interrupt her incessant droning. "Your name?"

"Daphne Liu-Reynolds…" China! I can deport her to China! Brilliant!

A thought sparks in my mind.

_My mouth drops open as I near the area—it's barren. No glass, no blood, no Trenton. I look over to Mr. Severin who's staring at me, possibly for appraisal. I can't help but smile at his intentness._

"_How?" Is all I manage to say._

"_Daphne." He says simply. "—An old friend." _

"Wait—_you're _Daphne?" I look her up and down disbelievingly. No way. So Blaise has a fetish for Asian girls—eh? Go figure.

She gapes at me, her eyes beginning to bulge from their sockets. "You know who I _am?"_ She can't hide her astonishment—this is obviously the most exciting day of her life.

"He's mentioned you once or twice." I say deadpan, shrugging it off.

Her hips do a little happy swivel. "NO WAY!"

"So you two are engaged, congratulations." I say unconvincingly, my voice low and fully of insincerity.

She doesn't take the hint. "Thank you so much!"

_Man this girl is dumb, can she not tell that I wish nothing but the worse for her? _

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" I ask, feeling the anger bubbling inside my belly. I want nothing more than to punch her square in her perfect little square jaw, effectively knocking that disgusting smile off of her face. Seriously, out of all the people I could have run into it had to be her.

My contemplation was halted when she suddenly became flustered. "That's right! It was nice talking to you Miss Grey."

_The feeling isn't mutual._ "Likewise." I fake a smile, my eye twitching slightly.

She bum-rushes pass me and begins to run down the street again. I silently hope that she will trip and fall or bump into someone else again—or a wall—either is fine.

Finally sliding into the back seat of the car I release a breath of air. Dutch slides into the passenger seat and Sawyer into the driver's, starting the car and pulling away from the curb.

"What…the…hell just happened?" I mumble to myself. "Why can't he just be gone from me!?" I exclaim a bit louder now, throwing my hands heavenwards in an act of submission.

"Is everything alright, Miss Grey?" Sawyer asks as he looks at me through the rearview mirror.

I put my arms gently across my chest and smile back to him. "Never better."

* * *

"Married?" I question myself, pacing my office back and forth. "Married?! As in _marriage_?!" You've got to be kidding me—the guys 22—what's he getting married for?

I collapse on my sofa and groan in annoyance. "Who the hell gets married so damn young?" Well—Benny's 25…

_BUT THAT'S NOT 22!_

I spring up from the couch and rush to my desk, sitting down and logging on to my desktop. In the address bar I type in Google.

'How old should you be when you marry?' 327,000,000 search results. I can feel the acid turning in my stomach. I drop my head on my desk with a _thunk_ and begin to self-loathe.

"I don't care what he does…"

"You sure are doing a helluva lot for someone who doesn't give a shit."

My head snaps up and I jump at the sight of my older brother leaning against my office door coolly, his hands in either of his dress pants pockets. I roll my eyes in disgust and then proceed to throw one of my desk pens his way. "Get out!"

He dodges it with ease, moving closer to my desk. "Your secretary was worried when she heard you rambling to yourself in here—she called me up to check on you because apparently she was too scared." He says annoyed, his eyes rolling heavenward. "So what are you not caring about again—while caring?"

I point a finger at him. "I'm warning you."

He stops just beside my desk chair and plants his ass right on the edge of my $9500 Lalis, lyptus desk. I immediately feel the heat burning in my belly and my eye is subtly beginning to twitch. "Get your ass off my desk."

He ignores me completely. "Is this about Blaise?"

"No!" I lie. "And get your ass off my desk!" I push at his legs—he doesn't budge.

He cranes his neck over to get a good view of my computer screen and the results of my search.

"How old should you be when you marry?" He personifies, his voice full of humor.

"Shutup!" I yell, turning the screen so it's facing opposite of us.

He can't wipe the smile off his face. "Who the hell Google's something like that?" He scoffs, clutching his stomach from laughing so hard. "Who the hell is getting married?"

"Get out, that's who."

"No I'm genuinely confused as to what's going on…" He tries to put on a serious front and fails miserably.

"And I'm genuinely irritated by your presence!" I yell, pushing him this time with all my might.

_Nothing._

Jeez, I have got to do some judo or something.

"You know you're constantly saying that 'you don't care if he does this' or 'you don't care about that', but you really, whole-heartedly do. If you didn't—you wouldn't be Googling things pertaining to him."

"Who said that this has anything to do with him?!"

"Because honestly Phoebs…? You don't give a shit about any other guy. Not even the ones you were with for years on end. I've never seen you this way before—and it's because of him…isn't it?"

I bit my lip hard. He's not lying—I couldn't care less if any of my ex's were to get married. Hell! I would send them a wedding present, but damn. The thought of him belonging to someone else—in body and spirit—it brings a wrenching feeling to my gut, and I feel physically ill.

I feel all of the energy drain from my body and suffice to resting my head on my desk right next to Teddy's legs.

The tears begin to burn the back of my eyes, and I barely manage to choke out, "What do I _do_?" My voice is barely a whisper.

"There's nothing _to_ do little sister. He's a healthy grown, successful man—any girl would be beyond herself to _refuse_ his proposal. The only thing you can do, is wish happiness for them—anything else would be selfish of you." He shrugs.

I glance up to his acquiescent mug. "That's really harsh, Ted."

He smiles contritely. "Truth always is."

I raise my head from my desk and plant my palm on the edge, squeezing tightly. "But here's the thing—I don't _want_ him to be happy…not if he's not happy with me."

Teddy gapes openly at me. "Whoa—" He stammers.

I feel the blush creep across my face. "What?!"

"I did _not _expect you to be so…honest." He admits.

"Eat dirt." I snarl.

"No—I didn't mean it like that. I was just—eh…what was I doing?"

"Allow the man that I have feelings for to marry someone other than me—ring a bell?" I repeat his words through clenched teeth.

"Well…when you put it that way…"

"Theodore! You don't know the first thing about love. You've never showed true compassion to anyone in your whole life—not even the women that you didn't think twice to stick your penis into!"

He looks absolutely flabbergasted, as if I broke down a wall of some sorts. "Whoa there—"

"Just go." I grumble.

He stares at me for a moment, and then with the most painful expression I've ever seen him make in all the 24 years I've been with him, he exits my office in the cruelest silence.

SHIT! I did it again. I hurt someone I cared about. When will I _learn_?

"Stupid, stupid, stupid." I hit my forehead with the palm of my hand between each word.

Running my hands through my hair, I sigh inwardly. "Just another day." I mumble to myself as I stare out my bedroom window from the bed. Just another mundane, topic-less day.

When it's finally time to head home, I'm smiling wider than I have in a long time. I've never been more happy to be able to go home and crawl into my own bed and sleep my troubles away. All of my work is done, and I'm really for sweet sweet release.

"What's with that smile?" Dad asks amusingly as he holds the car door open for me.

"Oh, this smile—it's nothing." I say dreamily, holding either side of my face with my hands as I slide in the back seat.

"We're all ready to go." Dutch says sternly to my father which earns him a tight nod.

"Be safe, princess." He smiles lovingly to me.

"I will Daddy." I smile back at him, reaching up to give him a kiss on the cheek. My father is an over-bearing control-freak, but hey—he's my dad, and I love him with all my heart. He's my #1 guy for now and always.

He closes the car door and steps back, allowing Sawyer to pull out of the space and onto the road. I sigh and slump back into the seat, not being able to contain my excitement of going home.

"You seem happy, Miss Grey." Dutch points out ingeniously.

"You have no idea…" After bruising my internal organs from a nasty fall, meeting my ex-fuckbuddys fiancée, and outright besmirching my older brothers self-confidence—I think I've had enough for today. I just want to forget about the world and sleep.

"You'll be home soon." He assures me.

"Good to kno—" My head is against the back of Sawyer's seat as the seatbelt strangles me to the point of momentary asphyxiation.

Turning my head around, I see that we've just been rammed from behind by a—I can't quite make out the color, teal—truck.

"You have _got_ to be _kidding me_." I say scornfully, cursing the world. When my seatbelt strangles me again I realize that this damn truck is ramming into us on purpose. "Sawyer—"

"I know." I hisses. "Hold on tight, Miss Grey—we're going to lose them." He commands, hitting the gas pedal so that we flush against the back of our seats unwillingly. He gets onto the highway for reasons unknown, and I immediately feel the car swerve through traffic like a snake. We weave in between countless amounts of cars at a gratifying pace, and I'm slammed into the door closest to my seat numerous times—I can feel my head beginning to swell. He takes an exit that leads off to a barren freeway that no one has used since they finished this highway.

I clench my eyes tightly together and begin to curl up into a ball in the back seat, hoping that we lost the truck. Sawyer doesn't slow down regardless and I can feel that the speeds we're going are most definitely not legal. Dutch is yelling something to Sawyer about going this way or that way, but I barely hear anything, only the slight ringing in my ears.

Dutch looks back to reveal nothing in the pitch-blackness of the night, stretching miles behind us onto this empty, abandoned road. "I think we've lost them." He sighs, and then turns back around.

I glance over my shoulder shakily, only to see the tiniest double gleams of light coming up faster and faster.

_RAM! _I cover my ears and scream at the top of my lungs. "SAWYER!"

_Shit. What the hell did I do to deserve this?_

"FUCK!" He yells, slamming his foot on the gas again. I grab my hair and begin to pull it at the roots.

"I don't want to die, I don't want to die."

"You are _not_ going to die!" Dutch yells to me in the most serious tone I've ever heard him utter since he began my guard. "You're not going to die." He promises.

_CRASHHH! _I feel my body beginning to lose weight, and before I know it I'm being tossed every possible way throughout the car.

"MISS GREY!" I hear a faint voice call my name as I begin to slip into unconsciousness from one to many blows to the head. Was that Sawyer, or Dutch…or was it—no…not a chance.

…_He probably wouldn't care if I lived or died._

* * *

I blink once, hearing the faint sound of sirens, bulldozers, and news reporters in the background.

"THEY'RE IN THE DITCH!"

"Phoebe!"

…_Mom?_

"Phoebe!"

…_Dad?_

"If either of you try to go down there you'll fall and break your necks—we'll get them out."

"GET THEM OUT RIGHT FUCKING NOW!" Dad screeches.

I blink again and try to move, but there's something heavy crushing against my body. When they finally focus on what it is, my heart sinks.

Tears begin to roll down my face. "…Dutch?" I choke out.

Dutch smiles, his bright green eyes shining even in this blinding darkness. "See Miss Grey? I told you, you weren't…" He coughs, and blood begins to pour out of his mouth, some hitting my face. His nose is broken, and both of his eyes are swollen beyond compare. "…you…die…" He mutters, and collapses on my chest. He must have lunged back and held onto me right before we went under.

"Dutch? DUTCH! WAKE UP!" I attempt to lift my arm to tug on him, but it's being crushed underneath me because of his weight. "Come on! Wake up!" I sniff. "…Please."

"Sawyer?" I look around the car for him, and see that there's a huge man-shaped hole in the windshield. All of the wind is knocked from out of me, and I begin to lose oxygen as I slowly slip into welcome unconsciousness once again.

* * *

"Phoebe, wake up." Someone shakes at my shoulder. "Wake up!"

My eyes snap open to meet my brother's relieved expression. "Oh thank God." He breathes heavily, collapsing next to me on the hospital bed. Hospital? When did I get brought here?

"I thought that you were never going to wake up!" Ava cries, rubbing the tears away from her streaked face. My grandmother, grandfather, mother, father, aunt Kate, Uncle Elliot, Aunt Mia, Uncle Ethan, cousin Bennet and best friend Bethany all look intently at me around my bed as Ava cries softly into my uncle Elliot's chest.

My mind jumps to life—crash. Dutch. Sawyer!

"Dutch! Sawyer!"

My dad places a hand on my shoulder. "They'll live Phoebe. Are they okay? Far from it—but they'll live."

I find myself relaxing with that, laying back onto my comfy hospital bed and wondering why exactly I'm here. There doesn't seem to be anything physically wrong with me.

My dad registers my confusion and quickly elaborates. "You have some internal bleeding inside one of your lower arteries. The doctors managed to patch it up well. Had it not been for Dutch—your condition would have been much, much worse." He says sorrowfully.

I cover my face with my hands. "Oh god."

"Who the hell did this to you Phoebe, do you have any idea?" Grandpa asks from the foot of the bed.

"No—not a clu—" _Trenton._ "…not a clue." I say timidly.

"I see." He responds, studying my attitude. If there's one thing grandpa is good at—it's reading people. He is a lawyer after all—it's his job

I can't tell my family that I was assaulted half a year ago and never reported it—I'll never be able to live it down.

I open my mouth to speak again but it's quickly halted by a knock on the door- a very hard knock on the door at that.

Aunt Mia shrugs. "Must be a nurse to check on you." She says.

"Don't count on it." Teddy scoffs, leaning closer to me.

"Come in." Mom calls towards to door and it immediately creaks open.

When my mind registers what my eyes have seen, it's almost as if I'm ready to slip right back into unconsciousness yet again.

His breathing is ragged as he walks closer to me, sweat practically pouring down his face. Everyone—including me—gapes at him as if they've just seen a ghost, moving aside to make way for him as if he's some king. How did he get past the guards…surely they wouldn't let anyone past that isn't family or staff here at the hospital. That's when I turn my head to Teddy, who's smiling like he's the greatest human being on the planet.

Teddy gets up to move out of the way, and he stops just before me, only inches away. It's unreal—I could almost touch him…is he really here? "…You okay?" He says breathlessly as he looks deep into my confused eyes. His voice—oh no.

I suffer myself to speak, but the word blurts out rather ungracefully, and the tears begin to stream unwelcome down my face. "Blaise?"

He smiles that god…damn…smile, but there's so much pain behind it as he refuses to tear his gaze from mine.

"Hey stranger..."


End file.
